


Some heroes, unsung

by Snovolovac



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Castiel (Supernatural)-centric, Dead Dean Winchester, Dead Sam Winchester, Family, Friendship, Gen, Impala, POV of moonlight, Sad Story, Sam and Castiel - Freeform, Set in the future, The Winchesters only mentioned, after the tragedy, dean and castiel - Freeform, hunter funeral
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 21:58:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7123996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snovolovac/pseuds/Snovolovac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"...I miss you." In the end, the Winchesters have found their final peace. Unfortunately, their guardian angel is the one who has to live on without them. One shot<br/>This work has already been published on FF.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some heroes, unsung

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Supernatural one shot.
> 
> This work has been published for a few months now on ff.net so I thought I'd post it here as well. Enjoy!
> 
> I don't own Supernatural or anything related to it.

 

* * *

 

Wind blew across the golden field. Long, thin blades of dry grass bowed beneath its somber power as an early autumn evening descended upon their dancing forms. Stars flickered into life.

Every living creature had already been safely tucked in their homes, protected from the icy chill that grew with each passing moment. Well, all but one.

Somewhere in the golden field, forgotten by the flow of reality sat a lonely figure. Stalks of wheat danced in the breeze and gently tickled its unmoving back. One could say that there was nothing there; it was so hidden between the graceful movements.

Moonlight knew, though. It knew almost everything. It knew that the figure came to the forgotten field and sat there every night for the past universe-knows-how-many years, never failing to show its unchanging face. And Moonlight found that She liked it. The way its pale flesh reflected the silver shine of the night, sprinkled with remains of glow long dissipated. The way its dark hair allowed itself to be carried on the wind, short strands tickling the nape of figure's neck and edge of its clothing. The constant way in which its blue eyes stared ahead, viewing all and nothing at the same time. And oh, what did the Moonlight see in those pretty, big eyes. Sometimes It saw sorrow, sometimes indifference. And sometimes, more often than not, It saw nothing- complete and absolute void.

If Moonlight could think, It would wonder what the figure must have lived through to be left so empty and so depressingly alone. What must be the reason for this strange yet now-familiar visitor to always venture back onto that silly little piece of nobody's land and simply sink in the silence. Never would the figure miss its mark – the exact same spot on the ground at the exact same time of the sundown - it was there.

The first time it came, the figure was not alone. It came in the carriage of black metal that roared with beastly growl and rumbled underneath the shiny if slightly dirty, cold surface. It was an early summer night- warm and beautiful, filled with melodies of joyous songs that celebrated life in its full swing, sang by bees and cornflowers.

Yet somehow despite all the charm and magic, the figure which stepped out of the black metal beast didn't seem to care for summer's return. It hadn't stopped to admire the beauty under the wild stars, or listen to the crickets as they chanted their cheery poem. It hadn't listened to the whispers of surrounding forest, nor giggles of the shining fireflies that roamed around , illuminating the ground with their dimmed little lights. It hadn't even looked up to the moon. Its head was bowed the entire time, as if it had something to hide. Only nothing can be hidden from the mighty eye of Moonlight when Its curiosity arises.

Figure, a man, leaned against the black beast as if in pain. His chest heaved, struggling for breath. Strong hands gripped the opening of the carriage tight, leaving a dent in its construction. Head bowed, shoulders slumped but still at edge, fighting some unknown sensation that wished to shake his body.

Tears. Moonlight saw tears. The man suffered, but what for? The Glow tried to find any sign of hurting on the man, but he seemed perfectly healthy. Even more than healthy - he seemed to emit his own light, dimmed as it was and invisible to living creatures, but still there. He was powerful, Moonlight knew in instant. He was pure. He was…almost divine in some way. But if that was the case, then why did he shed tears? What could make someone as mighty as him cry?

Moonlight would mull over Its thoughts for much longer, had the man (man?) not moved. He took a few deep, stranded breaths, visually trying compose himself. Shifting his shoulders, the figure bowed slightly and opened the back doors of the carriage. There he stiffened, sobs urging to climb back to the surface, but he pushed them down. The man slowly lifted something long and white out of the beast. The thing was rigid in his arms, completely unmoving and stoic. He stared at it with pained, red eyes as a child would stare at the crowd of strangers when it got lost.

His body seemingly had no problem dealing with the weight of the thing yet at the same time, he seemed to be holding the heaviest burden in all creation.

Few long, tense moments passed before the Pure Man moved again. Walking a few slow, but strong steps away from the carriage, he lowered his slender cargo on the grass. Crouching, he gingerly brushed his fingers over what appeared to be the head of the thing, leaving a sense of comfort and safety behind the touch like a mother would for her child.

Rising himself, the man turned and strode back toward the carriage, his back still rigid and face set in warrior stoicism. Bowing again, he repeated the process of lifting and carrying this time slightly shorter entity, gripping it tight with both hands, as if afraid of letting go.

Setting the second white wrapping on the ground, man kneeled between the two, head once more falling to his chest.

If Moonlight could listen, it would hear murmurs of a stranded voice, sounding more like a growl as it mixed with salty tears. It would hear the quiet words uttered under breath that hitched heavily in man's throat and held within them a painful note of regret. Words that were meant to fix what was broken, to sew what was ripped if only there was anyone alive out there to hear them. Words sent out for the two cold bodies which laid on earthly surface, accompanied with sorrow and inside torment.

_…I'm sorry…I'm so, so sorry...I couldn’t...I wasn’t fast enough…sorry…_

Repeating over and over and over again, until the dawn dimmed the Moonlight’s sight.

Now, the Moonlight hadn't seen what happened after sun retook its place and chased _her_ off to sleep, but when It awoke, It was greeted with two freshly buried graves with crosses erecting above them, right where the Pure Man lowered his burdens. A few steps away, burned remains of two wooden structures littered the scorched grass.

Suddenly, the moonlight understood. Shifting Its gaze across the field, It bathed the muddy piles in Her silver gleam, paying respects in the name of all that shone alight. It painted the crosses in cool shine, making it known that heroes rested beneath their guard. For whom else could they be if a Pure Man deemed them worthy, if he shed his rare tears upon their extinguished lives? They must have been the righteous men, the unsung heroes of their time.

Pure Man sat between the graves. Moonlight never even noticed when he came. He was just there, sitting cross legged with hands held limply in his lap.

Ruffled dark hair, pained blue eyes, frown upon his lips, and sand colored coat that wrinkled behind him on the ground. Keeping company to lonely graves like an old friend that greets his childhood companion - silent, yet known. A safe harbor for an old ship after the storm. As Moonlight watched, It couldn't decipher whether he was harbor for the graves, or if they were so for him. It seemed that in truth, answer was most likely both.

And so, he simply sat. Watched ahead, emotions slowly leaving his eyes.

Some nights he spoke; wished a small 'hello' only to receive silence in return. Some nights he would lie down on the grass, gazing at the stars but never falling asleep. Sometimes he would recite a memory or two for the crosses, smiling fondly for a split second, before placing his stoic mask back on. And some nights, but much rarer than all else, he whispered to a specific grave, not the same every time, a soft happy birthday. The first four times he did so, he wept. Not long or loud, not with desperate sobs. Simply wept. Tears would glide down his marble face, like holy statue in the cemetery. No sound, no movement, just a quiet sorrow that managed to escape the walls of apathy through its few cracks.

Time went by. Summer, fall, winter, spring, again and again, over and over. He was always there. At the exact same moment, at the exact same spot on the ground. Years slowly erased the bumps in the ground, grass growing over them like gentle, green blanket. Crosses that once stood proudly and with honor, steadily crumbled with the pace of life until there was nothing left.

No monuments, no mighty statues, no signs of remembrance. Nothing but nature and an abandoned figure that lost its gaze in the night.

He's still sitting there, alone with his memories. Gone with the sun, back with the stars. Always returning, for he would never forget the two boys that rested under the field.

Boys that were his charges.

_(I'll watch over you.)_

His friends.

_(I always come when you call...I gave everything for you... Always happy to bleed for the Winchesters.)_

His family.

_(You are like a brother to me.)_

Could the moonlight listen, it would hear the words, uttered like a faint goodbye.

"…I miss you."

Somewhere in the golden field, forgotten by the flow of reality sat a lonely figure. Stalks of wheat danced with a cool breeze and gently tickled its unmoving back. One could say that there was nothing there; it was so hidden between the graceful movements. Moonlight knew, though.

It knew (almost) everything.


End file.
